


if my wife and i fought like that... we'd still be married

by santiagone



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Babysitting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Life As We Know It AU, also i twisted the story a bit as i couldnt bear to kill anyone off, lots of banter lots of fluff & lots of tropes, so dont worry its fluff city all the way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11579787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santiagone/pseuds/santiagone
Summary: “What the hell? Peralta, you’re spilling Canyon Stank over my wholelife.”“Aw, Santiago, you remembered my cologne? That is socute,” Jake says. Amy hits him. He yelps. At the dressing table, Rosa rolls her eyes, and it's just another day in the life.(or, the Life As We Know It AU)





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> my first jake x amy fic, and honestly, they are _so_ much fun to write. i've recently fallen in love with this show, so hopefully you enjoy this journey with me! title is from 'life as we know it'

Ninety-nine percent of the time, Amy knows that Rosa Diaz has good judgement. She knows if a movie is crap or not by hearing the title. She has an inbuilt radar for sensing creeps, and more importantly, steering Amy away from them. She knows just which days to have Amy’s allergy medication. (Which is kind of freaky, and a little psychic, which makes Amy think this is Gina’s influence). 

Ninety-nine percent of the time, Rosa has good judgement. Which is why Amy is so bewildered that Rosa’s one percent probability of bad ideas has lead her  _ here _ , of all places. Sitting in a car with Jake Peralta, on the worst date of her life.

“Why does your car smell weird?” Amy asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Probably because it hasn't been washed for three years. Oh, and also because I spilt blue soda all over the backseat earlier,” he admits.

Amy turns around, and sure enough, there's a suspicious blue stain on the backseat. 

“Gross,” she says, and he frowns. 

“Hey! I take offence to that.”

“Jake, this is the worst date I've ever been on,” Amy says, after a moment, exasperation falling from her lips. “You were three hours late, your car broke down, you spent thirty minutes pointing out the flaws of my favourite movie-”

“Because it wasn’t  _ Die Hard _ !”

“-your restaurant suggestion was Chinese takeout, and you’ve been playing  _ Blank Space  _ on an endless loop.”

Jake glances at her, and she takes a moment to frown at his flannel shirt. Who wears a  _ flannel shirt _ to a  _ date _ ? 

“Hey, I have  _ valid _ excuses for all of those.”

“I don't want a date made up of excuses, let alone a  _ relationship _ ,” Amy huffs, bending down and snatching up her purse. “And Jake, there's  _ no _ excuse that warrants being a Taylor Swift fan.”

“Fine! I don't know what Rosa and Gina were thinking, anyway,” Jake shouts at her back as she climbs out of the car, tugging her dress down. “We’re incompatible. Who doesn't like  _ Die Hard _ ?” 

Amy gives him a sarcastic smile. “Bye, Jake. Thanks for being the worst date ever.”

“Just try not to fall in love with me,” he calls back. 

She slams the door closed, and he tears off in his burned out car. Amy watches him go. An attractive man, wasted by his personality. It's just another page of the Santiago story. 

 

.

.

.

 

Rosa and Gina argue for three and a half months about their wedding theme, which is why Amy’s not the slightest bit surprised when she receives an all black invitation, decorated with dark glitter and an emoji for a wax seal, stating that as the chosen Maid of Honour, she needn't bother bringing her own dress, because Gina is going to destroy and replace it with one of her own anyway. 

So here she is, milling in the dressing room, wearing a cerulean Gina-friendly dress, trying to touch up Rosa’s make-up.  _ Trying _ being the key word, seeing as her perpetual scowl keeps ruining all of Amy’s best efforts. 

“Can't you just be happy for three seconds?” Amy pleads, a little desperately by this point. “It's your wedding day, and it's getting harder to hide your scowl lines.”

By some sheer miracle, Rosa actually grins at that. “I have scowl lines? Cool.”

“That's not the point!” Amy protests, but quickly gives up in favour of taking advantage of the moment, and adjusting Rosa’s make-up. “You look amazing, Rosa.”

Something in Rosa’s expression turns a little more genuine, and for some reason Amy wants to burst into tears. It's been so long coming, Rosa and Gina, and she's just so happy for them, and- 

“Santiago,  _ no _ .” Rosa looks mildly disgusted, but mostly horrified. “If you cry, I’m kicking you out of the wedding party.”

Amy thinks of how hard Charles fought for her coveted spot as maid of honour, and sobers immediately. “I'm so sorry, it won't happen again.”

“Title of your sex tape!” announces a new voice, and the door swings open to allow none other than her worst nightmare to walk through. “Hey, guys.”

“Ugh, Rosa!” Amy whines, dropping the mascara brush to pull a face. “What is  _ Peralta _ doing here?” 

“He grew up with Gina, and I went to school with him. Automatic best man upgrade,” Rosa says with a shrug, and Jake grins, coming up to stand next to Amy with a smug expression. 

“That's right, Amy, looks like we’re going to be walking up the aisle together. Pinch me, I think I might be stuck in a nightmare.”

“Ha ha,” Amy says dryly. “Your bottom button’s undone.”

“Dammit!” Jake swears, glancing down. “I  _ knew _ three buttons was a bad omen.” He catches Rosa’s unexpected smile, and his face lights up. “Woah, you have scowl lines? That's  _ so _ badass.” 

“I know, right?” 

Amy throws up her hands. “If this weren't the most important day of your life, I’d leave right now.”

“Wow,” Jake exclaims, still wearing that infuriating grin of his, “you make it so easy for my recurring sex tape joke. The opportunities just never  _ end _ .” 

“Very funny, Peralta, considering  _ your _ sexual exploits. Tell me, was it the examiner or the dead body that turned you on?” 

Jake pales, eyes widening at her. “Who…” He groans. “ _ Charles _ .” 

Amy nods, a triumphant smile playing on the corners of her mouth. “You really need to stop documenting your life to him, especially when it's as embarrassing as it is.”

“Okay, I-”

“Hey!” Rosa throws a hairbrush at them. “Stop flirting. Play nice. Killing each other, while cool, will upstage our moment and ruin Gina’s dream wedding.”

“Oh, that's actually kind of sweet,” Amy says, relenting her argument with one final glare at Jake. He swipes the hairbrush off the floor before she can reach for it, holding it above the air, and she scowls at him. “What the hell? Peralta, you’re spilling Canyon Stank over my whole  _ life _ .”

“Aw, Santiago, you remembered my cologne? That is so cute,” Jake says. Amy hits him. He yelps. At the dressing table, Rosa rolls her eyes, and it's just another day in the life.

 

.

.

.

 

Okay, so  _ maybe _ , Amy has a… complicated relationship with dinner parties. She likes them, she likes attending and hosting and even, for a brief stint in her teenage years,  _ catering _ . But she also associates them with work. And work is associated with having to be the best, and having to be the best is associated with stress, and stress means that she is going to be viciously, horrifyingly late. (It's a vicious cycle.) 

But Amy Santiago is the best for a reason, so she pulls out all the stops, speeds (at a reasonable pace, she can't break the  _ law _ ), cuts corners, and practically runs until she reaches Gina and Rosa’s front doorstep… at the same time as Jake. 

She frowns at him. “Peralta?”

He grins at her and gives a little wave. “Santiago! I make it my mission to be five minutes late to everything. Fashionably late, you know.”

Amy's so horrified by the sentiment that her mouth opens, just a little. “That's just a saying for losers and the ill-timed.” He pouts, about to retort, and she shoves him. “Whatever, hide behind that bush!”

“What -  _ why _ ?”

“Because we can't be seen arriving together,” she hisses, eyeing his flannel (ew,  _ again _ ?) shirt and mismatched tie. 

“Too late,” says a smug voice, accompanied by a camera flash, and Amy realised Gina’s been at the door the whole time.

“This is going to break  _ trending _ on my twitter,” Gina says triumphantly, waving her phone at them. “You two appeal perfectly to my target audience of lonely, single twenty-somethings living vicariously through others.”

Amy frowns in confusion and exchanges a look with Jake, who just shrugs. 

Gina opens the door wider, eyes still glued to her phone. “Oh, yeah, come in, I guess.”

They step in, removing their coats and wiping their shoes, and Charles picks that moment to swing around the corner, eyes wide in excitement. 

“You’re here.” He gasps, after a moment. “Did you guys arrive  _ together _ ? Are you  _ dating _ ?”

“ _ No _ ,” Amy says vehemently. 

Jake rolls his eyes. “Sorry buddy, you’ve got to stop getting your hopes up like this. Me and Amy will never happen.”

“Amy and I,” she corrects automatically, and Jake gestures at her, grinning. 

“Do you see  _ why _ ?” 

“Whatever you say,” Charles says, in his creepy insinuating voice. Amy winces, and Gina herds them into the dining room, still cackling about how many views her video has already gotten. 

There are already people seated at the table when Amy steps in, rolling her eyes as Jake and Charles immediately strike up a conversation - something that sounds vaguely like ‘boundaries, Charles, we talked about this!’ and ‘but you and Amy-’ after which she promptly stops listening. 

Holt’s taken up a seat at the end of the table, with Kevin to his right, and Cheddar and Arlo taking turns to sniff at his feet. (She immediately opts for a seat far, far away. While there's nothing more she'd love than to learn about Holt’s personal life, she values her health a tiny bit more. But only a tiny bit. Stupid dog allergies!) Meanwhile, Terry is helping Rosa set out the last plates of food, Sharon and Genevieve are overseeing the twins, Ava and Nikolaj, and Hitchcock and Scully are… doing something. (It's safer not to ask.) 

Jake picks the seat across from her, much to her abject horror, and Boyle sits down next to her as the table finally begins to settle down.

“Thanks for coming to our dinner party. It was actually Charles’ idea, because Rosa and I both think dinner parties are for the old and revolting,” drawls Gina, holding a wine glass rather theatrically.

Terry looks vaguely put out. “Hey, Terry loves dinner parties.”

“You must be a scientific anomaly,” says Gina, eyeing his muscles. “Anyway, we have an announcement to make. Rosa?”

Rosa seems to scowl, sinking deeply into her seat, and Amy is suddenly reminded of just how deeply Rosa hates sharing personal things. She drains her wine and slams the glass on the table, but oddly enough, she's grinning. 

“We’re adopting a baby.”

The room explodes. 

“ _ What _ ? Congrats, guys!”

“The only thing Terry loves more than love is babies.” 

“Wait, you two are dating?”

“You were at their  _ wedding, _ Hitchcock. Where have you  _ been _ ?” 

Followed by a five minute long screech of excitement from Charles, who looks as though he might faint. 

 

.

.

.

 

Later, after the excitement has dwindled down a little, Charles has been resuscitated and dinner has been demolished, Amy swipes a bottle of wine from the kitchen and joins Rosa on the steps. 

“Hey, are moms-to-be allowed to drink if they’re not technically pregnant?”

Rosa grins at her. “Hell yeah.”

They take turns passing the bottle for a bit, and after a moment, Amy notices that Rosa is smiling. Full on  _ smiling _ , possibly even more than her wedding day, teeth and all. 

“Stop staring, weirdo.” Rosa takes the bottle. “I'm happy, okay?”

Amy smiles back, feeling warm in the sweet July air. “I'm happy you're happy. Gina was the best thing that ever happened to you, and now you're gonna start a family. That's cute, Rosa.”

Rosa pulls a face. “Gross, no. I am not cute.”

“You  _ are _ ,” Amy teases, five drinks into Confident Amy. “Rosa Linetti-Diaz is the  _ cutest _ .”

Rosa scowls at her, and takes another swig of wine. “Ugh, I hate you, Santiago. I can't believe I convinced Gina to middle name the kid America.”

Amy gasps. “America? For… me?” She blinks. “You know that's not my full name, right?”

Rosa peers at her. “ _ Wow _ , I underestimated your poor social skills. We didn't want the kid to be a carbon copy of you. I don't think our budget can afford the binders.”

“ _ I'll _ buy the binders,” Amy insists, and Rosa smirks into the bottle. “That's… really sweet, Rosa.”

“Gina and I want you to be godmother,” Rosa says bluntly. If possible, Amy feels even more touched than before. “Don't say ‘aww’ or the offer is rescinded.”

“Aw - I mean, yes, of course, I'm so honoured, please let me godmother your baby. Something America Linetti-Diaz, my godchild, oh my god, this is amazing.” Amy gasps. “Wait, are you allowed to name the kid? Is that breaking any rules? What if she already has one?”

“Her mother’s sixteen; didn't want any personal attachments. We were thinking about the name Nora.”

Amy blinks, a little taken aback. “That's… unexpectedly cute.”

“After Nora Ephron. I wanted Natasha ‘cause Black Widow-”

“Of course you did,” Amy mutters. 

“-and Gina wanted the Enigma. Or Beyoncé. Or Gina Junior. Jake picked out Nora.”

Amy pauses, a little stunned. “ _ He _ picked out a  _ cute _ name? Ugh, now your baby is forever ruined for me.”

Rosa laughs, and hands over the bottle. “Whatever, Santiago.”

 

.

.

.

 

The guests are starting to dwindle and disappear now, and to Amy’s dismay, Jake reaches for the coat rack at the same time. 

“Wait, no, let me guess which coat is yours!” Jake interrupts, throwing his hands out. She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, waiting. “Leather jacket - nope, definitely Rosa’s. Pink bomber jacket is way too trendy to be anyone’s except Gina’s, and while it looks like a woman’s jacket, this one is definitely Boyle’s. So… red jacket must be yours. It looks vaguely old lady-ish and you look good in red, therefore, uh-case closed.”

Jake hands her the jacket with a flourish, and she glares at him as she snatches it back.

“Stalker.”

“Nah, I just remembered what you were wearing when you came in.”

Jake grins at her, and she pulls on her jacket in the haughtiest manner she can manage. 

“Well, jokes on you, because I'm leaving this house a new person. More specifically, a godmother. _Ha_ ,” she jibes, and his eyes widen at him. 

“No way! You're Nora’s godparent too?”

“Too?” Amy echoes, voice a little dangerous. “Jake,  _ too _ ?” 

“You know what this means, don't you?” Jake says seriously. “We’re god-married!”

Amy shoves the coat stand at him. 

 

.

.

.

 

“She's  _ adorable _ ,” Amy murmurs, reaching out her pinky to the tiny bundle of blankets in the cot. “Nora America Linetti-Diaz. God, she's so small.”

“Title of your sex tape,” comes a whisper, a warm presence pressing into the empty space beside her. 

“Jake, we’re in front of a  _ baby _ ,” Amy hisses. “And that doesn't even make sense!”

“Yeah, Peralta, shut the hell up,” Rosa says with a smirk, cuffing him over the head. 

Gina reaches over and lifts Nora gently out of the cot, cradling her on her hip. “Hey, Nora, meet your godparents. Watch and observe, kiddo. You're gonna need to remember moments like this so you can mock them in later life.”

Amy only rolls her eyes once, and Jake only looks  _ mildly _ offended, which she thinks just shows how in awe they are by the new person in their lives. 

“Okay,” says Rosa, with a suspicious (someone more daring might even say  _ mischievous _ ) glint in her eye, “let's play who gets to hold the baby first.”

Amy puts her hand up, eyes brightening. “Ooh, me! I have good manners and  _ so _ many nieces and nephews. I can handle a kid.”

“Nerd,” says Jake. “I'm cool Uncle Jake, I'm  _ clearly _ gonna be a fan favourite. I'll show her  _ Die Hard _ . Wait, no,  _ Home Alone _ \- it's  _ Die Hard _ for kids. See? Good Uncle skills already.” 

“I can be cool too,” Amy protests. 

Gina raises her eyebrows. “Nobody believes that, honey.” 

“Hah!” Jake declares, sticking his tongue out.

Amy glares at him. “Fine, then it's time to pull out the big guns.” She whirls to Gina and Rosa. “I’ll babysit whenever you want it.”

“Done,” Gina and Rosa say simultaneously. Jake does a very impressive rendition of Michael Scott’s ‘ _ noooo _ ’ that gets him kicked out of the nursery. 

Amy only preens a little. (A lot. Until she realises that actually - she's not very good with kids. Oh no. What has she signed up to?)

 

.

.

.

 

Thankfully, almost ten months later and Rosa and Gina still haven't used the babysitter card. Of course, this all seems to end on a Wednesday afternoon in mid-March, because naturally, the universe hates Amy Santiago, and always like to stick in just when life seems like it might actually be going  _ good _ .

She knows something's up when Gina invites her out for coffee. Gina  _ never _ invites her out for coffee. Actually, Gina never invites her out. 

That being said, here she is now, Rosa sipping a straight black coffee, Gina halfway through an alcohol-laced tiramisu, and Nora giggling quietly from her stroller. (Arlo, thanks to Amy’s relief, is tied up outside.) 

“As much as it pains me to sink to the levels of common folk,” Gina starts, which is such a typical statement that Amy doesn't even bat an eyelash, “we need your help.”

Amy blinks. “I - okay. Sure. But I'm  _ not _ partaking in anything illegal.” 

“Don't be ridiculous,” Gina dispels. 

Rosa nods. “Yeah Amy, that was  _ one _ time. And you didn't even realise it was illegal.”

Her eyes widen. She chokes on her coffee. “Wait,  _ what _ ?”

“Anyway,” Gina continues, “Rosa has to go undercover for a month, and I'm going with her. The only problem is, it's too dangerous to bring Nora.”

“She hasn't quite grasped the art of nun-chucks yet,” Rosa interjects, which,  _ wow _ , should not be surprising and yet still kind of is. 

“We were wondering if you could take care of Nora for us while we were gone,” Gina says bluntly. 

Amy stills, her mouth falling open. “I - guys, I'm not that good with kids. I don't even have a steady relationship, and my house isn't fit for kids, and there's no rules for taking care of a baby!”

Rosa cracks a smirk. “That's why we compiled a binder for you.”

“You’ll be living in our house,” Gina prompts over Amy's gasp. “As long as you promise not to spread your old lady taste around, because, ew. Charles is dog sitting Arlo for us, so your dumb allergies will be fine. And you won't be alone.”

“You're not Nora’s only legal backup guardian,” says Rosa with a nod and a knowing smile. It's that suspicious glint in her eyes that gets Amy’s brain whirring. Legal backup guardian… she's the godmother, which must mean…

“ _ No _ . Guys, no!”

Gina’s grin has turned malicious now. “Yes, boo,  _ yes _ .”

Somehow, even adorable little Nora manages to look conspiring.

 

.

.

.

 

Three weeks later, Amy is standing on the porch balancing Nora carefully on her hip, helping her to wave goodbye as Rosa and Gina back out in their black and pink convertible.

And, standing beside her, is Jake Peralta. Her new housemate for a month.

“Hey, god-wife,” he says with a grin. 

She glares at him. “I still hate you, Peralta.” Nora burbles out a laugh and reaches up to play with Amy’s hair. “Ugh, Nora, you're ruining my moment! Come on, let's go give you an angry bubble bath.”

And as if to prove her point, she turns tail and storms inside. Too bad Jake follows her in too, because oh yeah, he  _ lives _ here now.  _ They _ live here.  _ Together _ . With a  _ kid _ . 

What has she gotten herself into? 


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. “Everything okay?”
> 
> “Yes,” says Amy, a little desperately, because she's sorely competitive, especially around Peralta. (It's becoming a serious problem.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two! these dorks get dorkier.

Nora’s safely in bed by the time Amy and Jake decide to be rational adults and, you know,  _ talk _ about it. Granted, they do put it off for an extra hour, due to an argument about what they should order for dinner. 

“Pizza,” Jake insists, draping himself over the sofa. Amy wrinkles her nose. 

“I  _ saw _ you eating pizza in your car this morning. We should get pierogis from the Polish place. They taste  _ so _ good, and they’re way healthier.” 

Jake pulls a vaguely disgusted face, and Amy fails to reign in her sharp offence. 

“Fine!” she snaps. “Then we won't eat  _ anything _ .”

“Sounds good to me!” Jake retorts, and they both settle in various corners of the room to sulk at each other. 

Later, though, after Jake has flipped through so many channels on TV that it's making her head spin with annoyance, she jumps to her feet and reaches for the phone. 

“God, I'm so hungry.”

“Me too, I'll even eat your stupid Polish food,” Jake joins in, much to Amy’s surprise. What's even more surprising, though, is the fact that she doesn't use the opportunity to rub it in his face. Instead, she roots through the collection of takeout menus and picks out a Chinese one.

Jake doesn't argue, and Amy grins smugly to herself. Hah! She  _ knew _ that conflict resolution binder would help one day. 

 

.

.

.

 

They sit cross-legged on the couch, chopsticks in hand, TV mumbling on in the background. Amy’s halfway through an egg roll when she feels Jake watching her. 

“What?” she says warily. “Just because I ordered Chinese doesn't mean we’re friends now.”

“Obviously,” says Jake, which makes her feel a little better. “Just - we’ve been here for three hours and I've already wanted to murder you, like, three times.”

“Impressive. I've wanted to murder you four,” she replies snidely, and he raises his eyebrows at her. She sets down her egg roll. “Right. I'm starting to see what you mean. Nora’s going to spend the month in a nuclear explosion.”

“Pretty much,” Jake says cheerfully.

“Okay, so… we go with the flow. Take things light and breezy. No harm, no foul, dog.” She winces. Jake shoots her a  _ really? _ look.

“Are you suggesting we try to be friends?”

They both consider it for a moment. 

“Nope, no way.”

“That’ll never work.”

“Okay, fine,” says Amy consideringly. “Ooh! What about a comprehensive set of rules?”

Jake recoils. “Who  _ are _ you?” She glares at him, and he sighs. “Okay, fine,  _ guidelines _ . I guess I can handle guidelines.”

“Great!” Amy beams at him, and then catches herself. Amys don't beam at Jakes. It's the unspoken  _ law _ . “Okay, number one. How about… we keep our personal lives private. We don't tell, or ask, each other about anything.”

“Smort,” Jake says, a little infuriatingly, but that's whatever. “Two, Nora comes first. Always.”

Amy blinks at him, a little taken aback by his thoughtfulness. Jake Peralta, showing  _ real _ love and emotion for someone? Pigs must be flying. “That's… actually a really good rule,” she says, and reaches out for the pen on her key chain and a clean takeout napkin, scribbling on it in near cursive. “What about…. we don't let this affect our personal lives? We date, we go to work, we do everything we did before, except now, there's a baby in the mix.” 

“Yes, noice!” Jake agrees, nodding. “What if we each get a night off to do whatever? The other has to babysit, no take backs or swapsies.”

“No one over the age of twelve says swapsies,” she snipes, because she just can't help it, but she scribbles down  _ Amy, Tuesdays _ and  _ Jake, Thursdays _ on the napkin anyway.

“How’d you know I wanted Thursdays?” Jake asks, squinting at the list over his seafood dumplings. 

“‘Cause that's your date night, dummy.” 

He frowns at her. “Yeah, but how'd  _ you _ know that?” 

“I went on a date with you once, remember?” Amy arches an eyebrow at him, reaching out to snag a spring roll. “Besides, you always crash my dates, but never on Thursdays, because you're too busy with your own. So I had to revert  _ my _ date nights to Thursdays, too.”

“Uh - okay, I don't  _ crash _ your dates,” Jake protests, “I just always happen to be at the same restaurant as you and your boring boyfriends, and it's way too much fun  _ not _ to mess with you.”  

“Sure, Jake,” Amy says, and very pointedly writes down  _ No crashing dates _ on the list. 

“Ugh, fine,” Jake relents. “But I have just one more rule.”

“Name it,” she says instantly.

He locks eyes with her, suddenly very serious and very earnest. “Amy…” he says, and for some convoluted reason her heart starts to pick up pace. “Whatever happens, you're not allowed to fall in love with me.”

Her heart returns to normal. She throws a pen at him. “Won't be a problem.”

 

.

.

.

Amy and Jake have argued over the TV channels for so long that by the time they finally settle on one, it's late, and they’re both worn out from each other. 

“Night,” Amy says on instinct, and as if on clockwork, they both move for the stairs at the same time. “Um,” she says, “What?”

“I don't want to sleep in Rosa and Gina’s bed,” Jake says like it's obvious. Which it kind of is, because that's the exact reason why Amy’s heading for the guest bedroom too. “That's like… some freaky stuff right there. I mean, who knows what you’ll find if you go into their room.”

“That's what I'm afraid of!” Amy hisses, and then abruptly stops herself, because it  _ sounds _ like she's agreeing with Jake. Which she's not. “Well, you can't have the guest room. I'm having it, and you're not sharing it with me.”

Jake gasps at her, looking oddly betrayed. “What? No, the guest room is mine! I claimed it!”

Amy shakes her head at him, head cocking in a puzzled expression. “What? No you didn't. Did you? Whatever, the point is, I deserve this room!  _ You _ can have the couch. Whatever happened to ladies first?”

“That's sexist,” Jake whisper-yells, “all people should be treated equally!”

“Fine!” Amy rescinds, stomping her foot and pouting a little. She's starting to feel a bit like Nora. “Paper, scissors, rock. Winner gets the bed. Loser gets the couch.”

Jake narrows his eyes at her, thrusting his fist out. “You're on,” he says in his best Donnie Brasco voice, and Amy trades in on rolling her eyes to roll up her sleeves and focus on beating Jake instead. 

She throws rock, and because the universe hates Amy Santiago, Jake throws scissors.

“Yes!” he cheers. “ _ Always _ throw scissors.” She glowers at him, eyeing the couch somewhat mournfully, and he seems to pause for half a second (which is practically in a  _ world _ of time for Peralta). “Okay then, we can… share the bed.”

Amy crinkles her eyes. “Jake, I'm not sleeping with you.”

“That's not what I meant,” Jake says quickly, and to her utmost  _ disbelief _ , the back of his neck is tinged a little red. Is he… embarrassed?  _ No way.  _ “I meant we can alternate nights with the bed and the couch.”

“You're going to give up the bed for me?” Amy presses, skeptically. 

Jake shrugs and waggles his eyebrows at her. “Sure.” Then, he seems to notice her expression, and his hand goes up to the back of his neck, tagging on, “For a  _ price _ , of course.”

“Name it.”

“Tomorrow night:  _ Die Hard _ and pizza.” 

“Ugh,” Amy groans, making sure to garner a big deal out of it. “I’ll have to rework my schedule.”

“Like you weren't planning on watching  _ House M.D _ in your pyjamas as soon as you got home.”

“Hey, Rosa made me promise not to watch  _ Gilmore Girls: Revival _ without her, okay?” 

He pokes her on the forehead. “Nerd.” 

It's only as he's disappearing up the stairs that Amy realises that they  _ haven't _ managed to burn down the house. And that surprisingly, her first night with Peralta hasn't been  _ that _ bad.

Maybe, just  _ maybe _ , this whole babysitting thing might work out after all. 

 

.

.

.

Amy soon rectifies that statement at three in the morning, when Nora wakes her up with her incessant crying. Blearily, she's been gently rocking Nora in her arms, whispering and singing and telling stories, but Nora’s incentive is to keep wailing, face red, voice high-pitched. Amy’s almost about to burst into tears herself when the door creaks open and Jake peeks in, with his hair sticking up in twenty different directions. 

“Hey,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” says Amy, a little desperately, because she's sorely competitive, especially around Peralta. (It's becoming a serious problem.) 

He glances at the drool on her over-sized NYPD t-shirt and raises his eyebrows, extending his arms expectantly.

After a moment, Amy caves. Gently, she hands Nora over and slumps on the side of the crib to watch as Jake bounces the baby. Predictably, Nora doesn't stop her crying.

“I’ve tried everything,” she laments. “I even sang the Itsy-Bitsy Spider. That's normally a crowd pleaser with the kids!”

“Okay, we are definitely going to have a conversation about your embarrassing childhood later,” Jake says, nudging Nora with his shoulder, “but for right now, I think Nora just misses her moms.”

“The one thing I can't give her. Go figure.”

Jake flashes her a sudden smile, which is a little surprising, but Amy pins it down to the weird time of night and the whole temporary baby acquisition thing, and crosses her arms over her chest somewhat self-consciously. 

Jake starts humming  _ America _ by Simon & Garfunkle under his breath, which is a little weird but  _ totally _ him and maybe even a little  _ endearing _ . Amy smothers her smile and steps closer until she can smooth back Nora’s little tousles of hair gently, peering at her over Peralta’s arms. 

“Hey, Nor,” she murmurs, “I miss your mommies too.” 

They stay like that for a little while longer, until Nora quiets down from bawling to the occasional whimper and sniffle. Amy stifles a yawn after a while, eyes flickering to her watch (which Jake loves to make fun of, by the way), and surprisingly, Jake nods at her. 

“You should get some sleep. I’ll bring Nora up to bed with me.”

Amy peers at him through sleepy lids, somewhat suspiciously. “Why? Have you put a dog in my bed? You know that's  _ murder _ , right?” 

Jake rolls his eyes. “You have work tomorrow, don't you? You’ll kill me if you fall asleep in Holt’s presence.”

“I would  _ never _ fall asleep in Holt’s presence,” she defends, mouth parting a little in competition. Then, Nora burbles, and Amy studies Jake’s tousled curls and grey sweatpants. “Okay, fine. But if I hear screaming, I'm coming up, so just… don't be weird.”

“Me? Weird?” Jake scoffs. Amy yawns again, interrupting her exasperated expression, and Jake’s eyes crinkle a bit. “Get out of here, Santiago. I've got this.”

“Night, Peralta. Night, Nora,” she mumbles, pressing a kiss to Nora’s tiny forehead. As she's shuffling out of the room and blindly stumbling back to the couch, she can hear Jake pick up a whispered, out of tune version of the  _ Harry Potter _ theme, which makes her smile. (But just a little.) 

 

.

.

.

The next morning is a weird blur of activity. Amy's alarm goes off at quarter to seven, like usual, but it feels weird creeping around Gina and Rosa’s house, trying not to wake Jake or Nora up. She showers, and considers making use of the pancake mix in the pantry for a brief moment, before being reminded of Terry’s birthday, leading to a rather spectacular kitchen incident involving three cups of baking soda, a broken fire alarm, and a favourite Christmas anecdote for Jake. 

She settles for toast instead (not even  _ Amy _ can ruin toast. Even if it's a little charred) and checks the news while she waits for Jake before remembering - it's  _ Peralta _ . He probably has the same sleep schedule as Nora. (Which is to say, a terrible one.) 

Regardless, she creeps up the stairs anyway and knocks gently on his door. 

“Jake?” But there's no answer. After a moment’s hesitation, she pushes it open slowly and peeks inside. Sprawled in the bed, drooling on the pillow, is Peralta. And curled up against his chest is Nora, finally asleep, tear free. She snaps a photo for blackmail purposes, and edges the door shut. 

Who would've thought Jake Peralta was good with  _ kids _ ? 

 

.

.

.

 

The TV is blaring when Amy gets home after work; there’s an assortment of colourful cartoons singing and dancing on the screen. She's not sure whether they’re on for Nora, who’s chewing at a rattle in wonderment, or Jake, who she can see singing and dancing along in the kitchen. (Probably Jake, then.) 

“Peralta, what have you  _ done _ ?” Amy asks, appalled, scooping Nora up and out of a mess of baby clothes and toys. “The place was spotless when I left. Now there's mess everywhere. There's  _ glitter _ on my  _ pantsuit _ .” 

Jake doesn't even glance up at her. 

“Arts and crafts. Duh.”

“Jake, she's  _ one _ ,” Amy points out, imagining craft knives and scissors and feeling an irrational swell of irritation and worry flare up. Nora makes an anxious noise, so Amy sets her in the high chair and tries not to follow her first instinct and blow up at Peralta. “You can't be  _ reckless _ .” 

“I'm not!” Jake says, looking bewildered. “The glue was non-toxic, Amy, c’mon. She never even touched it. You really think I’d be that careless?”

“I don't know,” she mumbles, feeling out of it for no particular reason at all. “I don't know you.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “C’mon, you  _ do _ know me.” 

“We’re enemies,” she states bluntly. 

“No, we’re enemies with mutual best friends,” he counters, leaning on the counter and mirroring her crossed arms. “We see each other every day, Amy. Our best friends are married. We’re babysitting their kid. We went on a date once.”

“This is not the time to be cute,” she threatens. “I don't know why Rosa and Gina chose us for this.”

He glances at her, and squints a little, like the answer’s right in front of her. Like he's cracked the case before she's even begun to piece it out. She  _ hates _ that squint.

“You're seriously having second doubts about this? They chose us because they trust us, Santiago.” He considers. “And because we’re lovable. Well.  _ I'm _ lovable. You're smart.” 

“And you’re stupid,” she mutters on autopilot. Jake cracks a grin. 

“I  _ knew _ Santiago was still in there somewhere.”

Amy picks up a toy elephant and throws it at him. He dodges it, barely, and sticks her tongue out at her. 

“Your Auntie Amy is the  _ worst _ ,” Jake calls to Nora, who's now apparently fascinated by her purple dinosaur socks. He brandishes a plastic baby spoon at Amy and gestures to the phone. “ _ Die Hard _ and pizza, remember? You promised.” 

Amy wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, fine. But we’re getting extra olives.” 

 

.

.

.

 

Later, they’re spread out on the couch. Jake’s kicked his socked feet up on the coffee table, fingers greasy with pizza, eyes glued to the TV screen. Amy's managed to negotiate him down to  _ Home Alone _ , because, “we’re not exposing an infant to  _ Die Hard _ , Jake!”, and Amy’s balancing Nora on her knee and attempting to feed her spoonfuls of pea purée. 

“Here comes the train,” she tries, a little desperately, “Come on, Nora, toot toot.”

Jake glances over at her. “Try a plane.”

“Not helping, Peralta!” 

Nora stubbornly keeps her mouth firmly closed, and Jake chuckles. “I wouldn't eat that either. I make it a rule not to eat anything green.”

“Of course you do,” sighs Amy. 

Jake seems to study her and Nora for a bit, before turning his body sideways to face her. “Okay, look, you're overthinking things. Nora’s a  _ kid _ , she likes bright things and cheerful noises.” She passes the spoon over at his gesture with a small frown. “So if you just  _ exaggerate _ things a lot, and make it a big deal…” 

And, sure enough, Nora opens right up and takes a big bite. Amy tries her hardest not to pout. (She fails. Dramatically.) 

“I hate that you're good at this.”

His grin’s a little crooked. “Nah, I just have the mental age of a two year old. You're good at things too, you just… make too much of a big deal out of things. You just need to find your groove.”

Amy blinks, a little touched, and a lot shocked. “Surprisingly insightful, Peralta,” she points out, raising her eyebrows. 

He shrugs, and flicks a pepperoni piece at her. “I watch a lot of Oprah.”

 

.

.

.

 

Later, after they’ve carted Nora off to bed, read her a story (something weirdly horrifying out of context like the Gruffalo) and stick around until she falls asleep, they retire back to the living room. 

Something pre-Nora tells her to go back to her room and go back to ignoring Jake, but something else ignores that completely. Something a little new. Also, Jake wheedles about promises and pizza and multiple other annoying things until she finally relents and sinks back into the couch to watch  _ Die Hard _ . 

“I love-”

“Yes, Jake, I know, you love this movie, you love it so much, you'd die for it, you'd probably sacrifice me, Nora and yourself just for a minute of being John McClane.”

“Wow. You do know me.” Jake smiles at her, a little smugly, which makes no sense, because anyone who's talked to Jake for more than three seconds knows all about his worrying  _ Die Hard _ obsession. 

“I know you're weird,” she fires back, and, surprisingly, Jake laughs. This whole experience is getting weirder and weirder by the second. They fall silent for a while, and Amy…  _ kind of  _ starts to get invested in the movie, which she’ll  _ never _ tell Jake. Except for maybe on her deathbed. So she can see the shock on his face as she dies. 

Anyway, she's starting to get into it, which is why she's a little startled when Jake speaks up out of the blue. 

“Hey.” She can see him studying her out of the corner of her eye. “You know I wouldn't really be that reckless with Nora, right?”

Amy considers her words, then the look on his face earlier, when he'd successfully fed Nora after her (numerous) failed attempts. “Yeah, I know. I was just being stupid. You'd make a great dad.”

“Aw, really?”

She kicks his shin. “Yeah, dummy. The secret ingredient is mental age, right?”

“Right.” He's still grinning at her, which is a little unusual, but not bad. Just soft. A little different from normal. “And for the record? It's totally cool to have doubts about all of this. Normal,  _ sane _ people would, which is why I don't. But if you’re going to have them, it shouldn't be about your ability, or Nora. She loves you, and Gina and Rosa trust you, above everyone else, with their kid. That's  _ big _ , Santiago.”

Amy feels a little warmer inside. Probably from all the pizza she consumed, definitely nothing at all to do with Peralta. Still, she grins at him anyway. 

“Plus, there's a binder.”

“Obviously the binder,” Jake agrees, and Amy doesn't even get  _ that _ offended when he calls her and her over-sized glasses dorky. 

 

.

.

.

 

Her pillow is very warm, and soft. Also, it smells a little different. Like cologne and candy floss. Also, it's moving up and down faintly. Also - it's not a pillow at all, it's  _ Jake Peralta’s chest _ . 

Amy leaps back with a silent shriek of alarm. The lights are still on and there end credits rolling on the screen. The clock reads half past eleven, and Amy is freakishly warm, which is strange, because she's always cold. But oh - that's probably because she's curled up against Jake, legs buried under his, hand splayed on her chest. 

She wrinkles her nose and wiped viciously at the t-shirt crease on her cheek.  _ Gross _ . She'd cuddled with Peralta. Jake Peralta!  _ Subconsciously _ , which is probably even worse, because maybe it means that a small part of her had wanted to do it all along. 

Or, she reasons, she was just cold and happened to sought out the warmest temperature in the room; Jake’s freakishly warm body. 

Eyebrows furrowed, Amy realises that she's kind of, a little, too tangled up to escape gracefully. With a heavy sigh, she reaches out to poke Jake in the chest. 

“Peralta! Peralta! Jake!”

“Huh?” he mumbles blearily. His eyes seem to widen a fraction when he eyes her position, but other than that he seems entirely unaffected. (Which is a little offensive. There's an objectively attractive woman in his lap! Why isn't he affected?! Or better yet, why does she care?) 

“Your stupid body’s imprisoning me. And you smell like pizza.”

“Surely that's a turn  _ on _ ,” Jake offers, but obediently shuffled along as they awkwardly split apart. He yawns, and she eyes the couch suspiciously. 

“So, seeing as I put up with you all of tonight…”

Jake rolls his eyes. “A deal’s a deal, Santiago. You get the bed.”

“Yes!” she gathers up her stuff, trying to ignore her chronic need to tidy up all the pizza boxes (with Jake, she's learned to compromise) and head for the door. Right before she reaches the stairs, though, something occurs to her, and she pauses to glance back at him. “Hey, Jake. It’s Thursday, right? Your date night? You missed out.” The words feel funny in her teeth, but slowly, she concedes. “If you want a replacement date-night for tomorrow instead, I'm willing to let it slide  _ just _ this once…” 

Jake's watching her, mouth tilted st the corners, still sprawled out diagonally on the couch. 

“Nah,” he says. “I think tonight was better.”

Amy considers that. “Cool,” she says, like the totally chill person she is. “Tight. Dawg.”

Jake snorts. “Okay, bed time for Santiago. Go away, weirdo.”

But the funny thing is, the bed still smells a bit like Jake - cologne and candy floss and sea salt. And the even funnier thing? 

She doesn't mind.

**Author's Note:**

> please excuse me for gina and rosa's vague excuse - but i couldn't bear to kill them off.
> 
> also, i made a lil [edit](https://santiagone.tumblr.com/post/163301766314/jake-peralta-x-amy-santiago-life-as-know-it-au) for this fic over at my tumblr, [santiagone](https://santiagone.tumblr.com/). come scream at me about these dorks!


End file.
